


Loyalty Pays Her Dues in Kind

by StarlingGirl



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Gen, Loyalty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-29
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-09-13 04:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9106081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarlingGirl/pseuds/StarlingGirl
Summary: “I need you to kill a man,” she says, matter-of-fact, and given that killing men is his job, he’s left wondering why she’s surrounding the whole business with dramatics. And then she tells him who, and the shaking hands and mild reluctance are all suddenly made clear.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this a good while ago, but stumbled across it again. See end for notes as they're a little ~spoilery!

“007,” is the extent of M’s greeting, and her tone says it all. This isn’t a casual meeting, and nor is it her more standard sort of briefing. Something is troubling her, and that’s enough to make James just a little bit wary.

He sits and – far from offering any of his usual sardonic humour – he gives her nothing but silence as she pours herself two fingers of cognac. He does her the courtesy of pretending not to notice that her hands are almost shaking.

“I need you to do something for me,” is what she eventually says. Bond tucks the beginnings of a smirk against his teeth.

“I’d gathered.” She fixes him with a look, the stern one which she reserves to turn on him when he’s being unnecessarily pedantic. He tips his head, ever-so-slightly: an invitation for her to go on. She makes a point of waiting a few moments before she does – damned, as always, if she’s going to do something purely because someone else has allowed her to.

“I need you to kill a man,” she says, matter-of-fact, and given that killing men is his job, he’s left wondering why she’s surrounding the whole business with dramatics. And then she tells him who, and the shaking hands and mild reluctance are all suddenly made clear.

 

* * *

 

A gun and a silencer and some gloves – there’s nothing else he needs. It’s not the first time he’s broken into the place, and somehow, he doubts it will be the last, either. It’s dark when he arrives and he carves a place for himself in those familiar shadows, and waits.

He doesn’t have to wait long. It’s half-past six on the dot when the sound of keys in the lock breaks the silence, just like she told him it would be. He curls his fingers around the grip of his gun.

The lights flicker on, warm and yellow, the filaments whining a little as they shake off the coldness of the day’s inactivity. He doesn’t move, perfectly at ease on the chair he’s settled himself into. It’s a high-backed thing, rigid and yielding. A little like its owner.

“You know,” he says, conversationally, and ignores the startled intake of breath that meets his words. “I’m not exactly the marriage type, but if I ended up with a wife like that, I wouldn’t bloody cross her.”

The man at the doorway is staring at him. Wide-eyed, he thinks, a little resigned. As though he’s been expecting the very thing he’s most afraid of for a long time, now, and here it is, in a black coat and a shirt and a tie with a gun, more civilised than he’d ever imagined it might be.

“Not out of any sort of sentimentality, you understand,” he continues, as though they’re old friends. As though he’d been invited in, rather than having to pick the lock. “Just because she’s absolutely bloody ruthless.”

The man’s hand twitches. James isn’t sure whether it’s towards a concealed weapon or merely the door handle. Either way, it’s enough to cause him to lift his own gun. The man stills, focused on the barrel levelled in his direction.

“She loves me,” he says, hoarsely. There’s a note of desperation in his voice – an ugly attempt at self-preservation by appealing to the most base of emotions. It makes James’ lip curl in disdain.

 

* * *

 

“That’s why I’m here,” James points out, tipping his gun meaningfully. “She could have done this through official channels. Drawn it out. Seen you hang. Instead —-”

The gentle thak-thak-thak of his finger tapping against the trigger, not quite enough pressure to pull, is loud in the soft silence of early evening.

             “—-quick and quiet, and above all, secret. Thoughtful of her. More than you deserve, probably.”

The man licks his lips. Sets down a briefcase, and spreads his hands, slow and careful.

“Look,” he says, “I don’t know what Olivia –”

                                He recognises his mistake too late.

                                                            “– what M told you I’d done –”

The zip-whisper of the bullet is followed immediately by the zip-whisper of the second. The man, bug-eyed and abruptly silent, stumbles. And then he’s down.

“She didn’t,” James says, mostly to himself. “And I didn’t ask.”

 

* * *

 

The funeral is well-attended, apparently. James doesn’t go. After all, he’s known M for years and years, but he’s only ever met her husband _once_. The investigation is thorough, but turns up nothing.

A dangerous job, she says, tightly, during her eulogy. She’d always known the risks; she’d never imagined they’d project onto her husband. The tears in her eyes are unquestioningly real.

The Prime Minister suggests she takes some time off.

“With all due respect, sir,” she tells him, sharp and straight. “I’ll take some time off when I’m dead.”

 

* * *

 

“He was selling us out,” she tells Bond, during their next briefing, the soft-spoken admission tucked between one of his dry remarks and one of her equally dry retorts. He hadn’t asked. “I spent thirty years of my life married to the bastard, and he flips on me in thirty minutes.”

He says nothing.

         “You never asked me,” she says, and it sounds like something approaching a _thank-you_.

“I didn’t have to,” he replies, and that sounds like _any time_.

She could have wanted him dead because he snored too loud, or left the toilet seat up once too often, or because he’s been sleeping around. Doesn’t matter. She’d looked him in the eyes and told him it needed to be done.

                                    So he’d done it.

Loyalty pays her dues in kind.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Always thought it was odd that M loses her husband between one movie and the next. Can't remember where the idea originally came from, but we all know that James would unquestioningly do anything M asked of him - even if he does it like a little shit.


End file.
